


Chasing a Hit

by crankyoldman



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Genre: F/M, Horror, Humor, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/crankyoldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So who's the better graverobber now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing a Hit

"Blonde today? Just doesn't seem your thing."

She couldn't even try to be graceful the way she'd been shoved out of the club, and she shouldn't have bothered to put a dress on in the first place. The sorts of hangouts for the Zydrate chasers erased all defining lines of class or politeness, and if you got in the way of some bitch and you were likely to get slapped.

Or in her case, thrown out of some shithole.

"What trash heap did you crawl out of?" He was never around when she needed him, it seemed, and he was always there when she didn't. If only Amber could somehow get that rearranged, maybe then she could wipe the smirk off his face.

If she wanted to.

"A good dumpster. Scouting out a good dumpster is hard work, you know."

For someone that slept in garbage, he certainly had a way of being high and mighty. While he was there, though, might as well get a hit off him. The bastards at the party weren't willing to share.

She made sure that when she took off the dress--it's not like she wasn't always wearing _exciting_ underwear and corsets under the attempts to look civilized--that she took her time. Pulling the side zipper just so, as if she was wanting to preserve it and the stains of who-knew-what from the party were irrelevent.

"Graverobber..." Amber's voice lived up to her stage name, and his smirk dropped immediately.

"I'm _out._"

Her heel was broken, she wouldn't be wearing that again. It worked well as a projectile.

"Then get more!" Amber was twelve again, her voice rising into that kind of pitch. _Sweet as poison more like._

"It's not easy to get, bitch." She rolled her eyes.

"Give me your fucking kit and I'll do it myself." It had been one of those weeks, too many eyes _watching_ and couldn't he at least _try_ to understand for once?

"You'd chicken out before you even got to the graveyard."

He was clearly intrigued with the prospect of Amber Sweet robbing graves. She'd heard a lot of things about what Graverobber did with some of his sources, too. It would be a while before someone was sent to look for her. Better to make the most of it.

"Wanna bet?"

"You freak out and get us caught and you'd better find a new dealer. Got it?"

"Find me some fucking shoes in that dumpster and let's go."

_ooo_

Amber was so engrossed in the work she'd almost forgotten why she was there.

"Another empty one. Either someone's been getting in on my territory or there still are clean deaths around..."

She knew the look in his eyes, though she had never seen it from him before. Hooded, hungry, and needy. Waiting for the next hit. It was all so poetic for that moment to realize that the dealer was as addicted to finding it as she was to using it.

_Not so high and mighty now._

Amber shouldn't have been surprised that when she straddled her own corpse and pulled pure blue glow out of it that he turned that look on her. And for once she was holding the vial. Power wasn't pure or clean, but it was certainly heady.

"What do you want, _Graverobber?_"

"I want--"

"Shut the fuck up and kneel."

It was quick, because graveyards were monitored, and she knew she would be back to begging next time she needed a hit, but oh she enjoyed the view from the top. And having him under those trashed and ill-fitting boots... well. She could get used to that kind of thing.

If Amber could get a hold on real power, she wouldn't need the glow anymore.


End file.
